


Into the Dark

by DevilishKurumi



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:35:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishKurumi/pseuds/DevilishKurumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Harvey/Joker kink meme: "emotional sex."  Harvey shoots a guy.  The Joker tries to make him feel better.  These things are never received as well as he plans them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> First written & published in 2009, back when I had even less an idea how to write the Joker and Harvey interacting than I do now.

 

            There’s gore everywhere.  The walls are coated, thick with congealing blood and pus, the stench of death so heavy that he can hardly breathe.  The revolver is hot in his hand, drops of blood dripping over his face as he stares, unseeing, at the man tied to the chair in front of him.  What’s left of him, anyway.

            Harvey can hear the Joker laughing behind him, deep and hoarse, like a hyena with a bone lodged in its throat.  _Heh, heh, heh._

            His coin is in his pocket and he didn’t even flip it when he took this man’s life, didn’t even stop to see what fate had to say about him, this worthless thug, a homeless man who killed a young woman for her purse –

            “Wasn’t so _hard,_ was it?  Just gotta learn to pull the _trigger..._ ”

            Something cold grips him from within and he shudders, head to toe.  “Shut up.”

            Footsteps echo as the Joker paces to him, puts his hands on his shoulders and coos, “Oh, don’t _worry_ so much about it, _Harv,_ it’s gonna be all _right..._ ”

            “I said, _shut up_.”  He reaches for his coin, pulls it out – feels the rough side on his thumb and God, it makes him gag every time – and flips it.  “Call it.”

            “Harvey.”

            He slaps the coin down on the back of his hand, covering it, shaking.  “ _Call.  It._ ”

            A sigh.  “ _Fine._   Uh, _tails._ ”

            Of course he’d pick that side, the side that makes him want to vomit every time he sees it but right now, right now he prays that it’s the upside, just _this once..._

            He moves his hand and drops the coin, the untarnished side smiling up at him until it bounces away on the floor.  The man in the chair drips and Harvey finds himself sobbing a little, dry-heaving more like it, because _it wasn’t his turn..._

            “ _Har_ vey, would you just _quit_ it?”

            Harvey turns and grabs the Joker by the throat, clamping down with all the force he can, unable to hold back the seething, raw _loathing_ – stronger than that, _abhorring_ – that’s coursing through him.  God, he just wants to squeeze until the fucker’s _head pops..._!

            The Joker gags and grabs at the lapels of Harvey’s suit, eyes wide and confused like a dumb animal’s, cracked nails scrabbling to make some kind of impression on him – he chokes out, “H-Harv-” before his eyes start to roll back and Harvey’s forced to loosen his grip.  He already checked this monster’s fate and he can’t kill him.

            When he slackens his grip, though, the Joker doesn’t quite move away; he clutches Harvey’s suit and stares at him with some kind of... _look_ on his face, one Harvey can’t place and doesn’t want to.

            “ _Harvey_ _,_ ” he says and it sounds like how a lover would say his name in bed, a breathy little whisper that makes every hair stand on end.  He shoves the Joker away.

            “Get away from me.”

            He turns to go, choking down the bitter sting of defeat because that’s what’s happened, here – Joker got to him and made him pull the trigger before he could think.  Joker introduced more anarchy in his life than he could handle.  The Joker won.  Again.

            “Wh-What, are you _running away?_ ” the Joker says in a bloody-thick voice, “Just like that, huh?  Just gonna, uh, leave everyone _else_ to clean up your mess, just like with _Ray-_ chul.”

            He stops and turns to glare at the Joker, mouth twisting into a grimace and burnt skin cracking over muscles, “Don’t even fucking _talk_ about her, you little-”

            “ _Raaaachel,_ ” the Joker sighs, “Y’know, it – it would’ve been _great_ to have just a little more _time_ with her.”  His voice is cocky and self-assured, but his eyes are _desperate_ and Harvey almost turns away so as to not give him the satisfaction –

            “I bet she was _great_ in _bed._ ”

            Harvey lashes out and pistol-whips the Joker across the face; the psychopath recoils with a yelp and Harvey _loves it,_ so he does it again, grabbing the Joker by the neck again and hitting him once, twice, three more times with the gun before dropping it and socking him in the nose.

            “ _Don’t talk about her!_ ”

            The Joker giggles through blood and snot and licks his lips.  “Oooh, _Har_ vey, gonna show me your _dom_ inating side?  Gonna treat me like a little, uh, _bitch?_   Just like little old Rach-”

            Harvey doesn’t know how to shut him up and so he crushes their mouths together, Rachel’s name getting swallowed up between them.  The Joker makes a startled sound and bites him, reinvigorated and clawing at his face – there’s panic in the way the psychopath’s whole body jerks away from him and so he keeps him close, biting back and keeping the fucker’s airflow restricted.  _Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!_

            The Joker whines, low in the back of his throat, and grabs at the hand around his neck, twitching as though being electrocuted.  He keeps trying to pull away and so Harvey keeps pressing forward, until they’re against the wall; he grabs at the Joker’s hands when they get in the way and pins them up against the wall.  The Joker writhes and snaps his teeth at his mouth, hands clenching and jerking even though Harvey’s just a little stronger than him and there’s no escape.

            When Harvey pulls away there’s saliva and blood trailing between them, the Joker gasping for air with what little leeway Harvey’s giving him and Harvey himself gasping for something he can’t quite describe.

            “It _wasn’t his turn,_ ” he says, voice sticking in his throat, “And this is _all your fault._ ”

            Harvey doesn’t want to admit it but he’s a little shocked when some semblance of _hurt_ flashes over the Joker’s face, and his hand on the clown’s neck slackens a bit.

            “Just... wanted to have a little _fun,_ ” the Joker rasps, blinking rapidly, “Just loosening your, um, your _restraints_ a little more...!”

            “I don’t need you to do me any fucking _favors._ ”  He pours as much disdain into his voice as possible, tries to make it clear that he doesn’t think they’re _favors_ at all.  The Joker looks hurt again and he nearly backhands him – he doesn’t deserve sympathy, he doesn’t _deserve_ to look upset, this is _all his fault_ –

            He pulls away and drops his hands, twisting to get away from the Joker, whose hands grab his wrists tightly.  “ _Harvey,_ ” he says in that bedroom voice again, “ _Harvey_ -!”

            He can’t stand the tone of the Joker’s voice, a pleading noise that just – just doesn’t _work_ , can’t be right – “Get away from me,” he says, even though he can’t seem to force himself to move back again.

            “ _Don’t-_ ”

            A full turn around from before has the Joker grabbing at him, trying to pull him closer, licking at his lips like an affection-starved stray.  Harvey feels something in the back of his mind, something telling him that this submissive attitude on such a _dominant_ personality is _good,_ is something he wants, can _work with_ –

            “Don’t _what._ ”

            His voice comes out like sulfur, pungent and full of bad connotations, but the Joker keeps on pulling at him – he finds his feet moving reluctantly, one step at first, then another, until he has the Joker against the wall again.  It’s like a dance, almost, and it feels too gentle so he backhands the Joker, who rolls with it and _moans._

            God, he’s a depraved _psychopath_!

            Pots and kettles, that little bit in the back of his mind reminds him; he presses until neither of them can breathe without inhaling something from the other.

            The Joker’s hands are quick – moving with an uncertain, teenage sort of grace to Harvey’s fly, unbuttoning and unzipping it before Harvey can grab him away.  “ _What_ are you doing-?”

            “ _C’mon,_ Harvey, can’t you – the _smell,_ Harv, the _feeling,_ ” the clown-faced man sighs, writhing against the wall, “It’s all _blood_ and _goo_ and I want it, want it want it _want it,_ in _dulge_ me, Harvey, c’mon.”

            This man – this _thing,_ he isn’t a man, hasn’t been in a long time, if ever – is pressing up against him, hands grabbing at him as though in a storm, leaning into his ear to say hideous, disturbing things...

            Harvey finds himself pressing back and nodding, his mind feeling heavy and slow now that he’s forced to focus on the smell shrouding them, his body reacting to adrenaline and anxiety.  The Joker moans again, into his ear this time, and Harvey says, “Shut up and don’t make a sound.”

            He feels the clown nod against his neck, breath coming out as though they’d just finished instead of having barely started, hand reaching again for Harvey’s fly.  Harvey smacks it away, grabs both wrists in a hand and pushes them over the Joker’s head, pinning him with a low, menacing noise that isn’t quite a growl.  His other hand, free to move where he doesn’t want to go, reaches for those expensive tailored pants, tears the buttonhole and breaks the zipper apart, moving back so the cloth can drop.

            The Joker doesn’t let go – he leans with the movements, keeping his face buried in Harvey’s neck, legs kicking to throw the pants off completely – it’s not what Harvey wants but it’s too late to object, so he simply reaches up and yanks the clown’s hair violently in reprimand.  All the other does in response is buck his hips and _pounce,_ really, on Harvey, mouth moving from his neck to the burnt side of his face, licking and kissing at exposed muscles as a leg comes up to hook around the half-burnt man’s hips.

            Unused to the weight, the _force_ behind the Joker’s moves, Harvey stumbles back, footing lost against the blood-slick floor.  They hit the ground together, the Joker’s hand lashing out to wrap around the back of Harvey’s head and keep him from splitting his skull on the cement.  This puts the Joker on top and Harvey can’t _stand it_ , can’t allow him that luxury for even a moment, and so he’s quick to roll over, pinning the Joker to the floor.  The clown’s hand is buried in what hair he has left, eyes roving all over Harvey’s face, as though he’s trying to decide what part to eat first, and when Harvey growls the Joker pulls him down to bite at his mouth again.

            He’s being dominated even now, and though part of him realizes it, Harvey can’t help but let the Joker have some control – another part of him wonders if he can ever be in control any more, or if some outside power, some stronger being, has to be the deciding factor.  The Joker’s mouth and tongue soon drive most coherent thought away, one hand digging into the back of his neck, along the burned flesh – the other, slowly, almost pausing, traveling along his side to work at his belt.  He lets it go, pressing into it with a growl, and it unfastens the buckle; the Joker pulls his mouth away, biting at Harvey’s shoulder now as he uses the extra few inches to start pushing the cloth down.

            Harvey pulls his hands away – when had they balled up in the Joker’s vest? – and does the job much more quickly, groaning inwardly as he realizes both he and the Joker share a similar distaste for underwear.  The Joker giggles and so Harvey socks him in the jaw.

            “I said, _don’t make a sound._ ”

            “C’mon, _Harvey_ _,_ don’t do this – you can’t just, uh, _pretend_ I’m someone else-”

            He hits the other again.  “I don’t want to _pretend you’re someone else._   I want you to _shut up._ ”

            So the Joker shuts up and Harvey relishes in the silence that’s broken only by their breathing and the occasional strangled laugh.  The Joker’s hand is grasping at him, stroking erratically in some kind of attempt to get him off – it drives him crazy but not over the edge and he quickly drags the hand away.  The thing under him wriggles in response, brushing every available inch of himself against Harvey, hands coming up to wrap around his neck like twin boa constrictors fighting for a meal.

            “Do it,” he hisses, and Harvey doesn’t think to shut him up.  “Let’s _do_ it,” he singsongs.  Harvey’s never done this before; he imagines it works the same – hell, he’s heard stories from vice – but...  The Joker writhes and grunts into his ear, “Stop _stalling_.”

            He isn’t stalling – he doesn’t mean to hesitate, that is – but this is getting too far out of control.  He should... He should check, see if this is what’s really in store for him.  But the Joker’s breathing hot against his ear and he’s _aching,_ and maybe he can actually hurt the psychopath this way, since he seems to write off every punch and kick.

            He takes it slow at first, like he used to do with Rachel, but the idea of being as good to this sick fuck as her makes him want to retch so instead he thrusts in with a series of slow, painful jerks.  There’s no lubrication here, no easy slide, and the muscles pinch against his skin, but the pained _howl_ that comes from the Joker makes up for that in spades.  He finds himself grinning – grimacing, really, not capable of any pleasant expression right now, and he grinds out between his teeth, “I thought this is what you _wanted_.”

            The Joker doesn’t respond, to Harvey’s slight surprise, just digs his gnarled nails into the burned skin on his shoulder and bites the side of his neck so hard Harvey’s certain he’ll be missing a piece of flesh there.  He thrusts again, then once more, and the going gets slick with what Harvey imagines is blood.  He hopes it fucking hurts.

            The Joker groans and cracks his head on the cement, eyes shutting tight before opening wide, mouth forming half-thought out syllables, like he wants to say something but can’t quite get the words all there.  Harvey takes no time, trying to make this as completely different from Rachel as possible – bloody, mean, fast and _hateful._   When the Joker tries to kiss him, or some facsimile of the act, Harvey smacks him away.

            Still, it’s just not enough; every noise the Joker makes brings back memories of Rachel – holding her close, her leg hooked over his waist, hair knotted from their earlier rough-and-tumble and now splayed over the pillows –

            There are no pillows here, there’re no soft skin or quiet words; just hard concrete and half-growled _aa_ ’s and _nngh-!_ ’s.  The Joker’s arms are wrapping around his neck again and the clown struggles to bring his mouth up to Harvey’s, pressing erratically against every thrust of the ex-D.A.’s, and in between pants and noises he manages to say:

            “ _Forget about her,_ _Harvey_ _– let’s make something new_.”

            And just like that, images of dark hair and blue eyes vanish; he tries to bring back the memory of her nails against his back or the smell of her favorite perfume – things he knew he could never forget – but all he gets is the smell of gunpowder and dynamite, burning money and eyes so dark they might as well be pitch.

            He’s not sure when things went from being all about hurting the Joker to this, but here with this new memory being made, he finds the Joker licking away tears, shushing him almost gently (a gentle that must be the harbinger of darker things).  His own arms come to wrap around the Joker’s back, and with a few hasty movements he’s sitting beneath the psychopath who’s killed Rachel twice, letting him have all the control.

            The Joker laps up every drop of saline coming from his eye and keeps the original pace set by Harvey – fast and vicious and _deep_ – but it’s lost all its meaning now.  When Harvey comes it’s with a low sob and no sense of relief; the Joker shushes him again and grabs one of his hands, showing Harvey stroke-by-stroke how to finish the psychopath off.

            The Joker slides off of him with a contented purring sort of noise, rising to his feet and gathering up his ruined pants.  He pauses as he pulls them on, looking over the zipper and button in dismay before going to the corpse festering in the room and pulling the belt off of it.

            Harvey, for his part, just stares at the wall, mind painfully hazy as he wipes his hand on his shirt.  The Joker moves to squat in front of him, bringing focus back into his eyes.

            “What.”

            There’s a pause as the psychopath sizes Harvey up, looking – serious, for the lack of a better word, though maybe solemn would be best.  “I’ll find you again,” he says, and it sounds like a promise between lovers.

            Which is wrong, because Harvey loves Rachel.

            When the Joker doesn’t get a response he sighs and starts to move; Harvey doesn’t think about it rationally, but the man in front of him took Rachel away.  With a gasp, he grabs the Joker’s tie and pulls him into a kiss, ravaging his mouth as if that would bring her back.

            After a moment, the Joker pulls away – somewhat reluctantly, Harvey notes (or pretends to note, because it’s likely he’s making it up) – and pats Harvey’s cheek.

            “Don’t beat yourself up over it, _Harv._   We gotta lot of space to fill in that _noggin_ of yours, now that you’ve, uh, _given up_ on keeping that broad in there.”  He stands, moves to the door, and tosses a wave over his shoulder.  “Be _see_ ing you.”

            The door shuts with a heavy thud.

            Hours later, sitting in the dark of “his” apartment in the Narrows, Harvey briefly recalls dark hair and a breathy, “I love you,” before replacing them with black eyes and a simple, “Be seeing you.”  He can’t decide which one is better.

            The coin-toss to determine it comes up charred and scratched.


End file.
